


Bilbo's Hands

by FelicitySapphire



Series: The Anatomy of Bilbo Baggins [2]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hair, I know it's a sequel, M/M, braiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicitySapphire/pseuds/FelicitySapphire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through various events concerning the use of his small, nimble hands Bilbo finds he is much wiser – and probably sinking – in the culture of the dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bilbo's Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to “Bilbo’s Hair”
> 
> Disclaimer: I tried to send a threat through a thoroughly written letter to J.R.R. Tolkien about giving me the rights to “The Hobbit”. He hasn’t written me back yet. He’s probably busy.

When morning rose, allowing sunlight to slither through the trees, Bilbo was feeling very refreshed. In fact, he felt more refreshed than he had since they had left the house of Elrond, which seemed like long eons ago – which was probably due to the long lackluster hours they spent wandering in the wilderness. The valley and the change it brought in environment was very much welcome by the group.

Nevertheless, their travels continued. They decided to make progress along the river as it would, according to Gandalf, lead them closer to the borders of Mirkwood.  
Bilbo, after swallowing quite a bit of his Baggins pride, eventually admitted that the braiding of his hair made his travels much less trying and problematic. No longer did disloyal curls add to his discomforts and whenever there was a breeze to be enjoyed he could do so with his entire face, never disrupted by strands of hair poking his eyes or blowing into his mouth.

He often found himself unconsciously touching his gift – because that’s what he considered it as – feeling the warmth of being so tremendously included spreading through his tracing fingertips as they slide over the bumps and valleys of the interweaving. He set off time to tend to it as often he could and made great effort to make sure it didn’t loosen. While occupied with this specific task, Bilbo never took notice of the small smiles his engagements brought to the faces of his companions – their leader’s more so than anyone else. What he occasionally did take notice of, though, was the warm and gentle pricking of stares he’d sometimes feel on the back of his neck only to turn around and find no obvious source – although he had his suspicions.

The company in general seemed in much better spirits, as well. The valley was cool and lush, protecting them against the scorching summer sun most of the day as they travelled through it. Food in the form of meat, herbs, mushrooms and berries could be found anywhere around them; to a company of fully grown dwarves, and a hobbit with an appreciation for multiple meals per day, that was a blessing in itself.

They were currently on their second day of travelling since they entered the valley.

Bilbo was still in a great mood, but had felt his spirits damped when he in the morning had found more than a few strands of his curls slipping out of his braid. He had done his best to mend the damage, and though somewhat satisfied it still disappointed him deeply to know the work of the dwarf prince was slowly disbanding with his every movement.

Fíli and Kíli hadn’t missed the extra time he had spent by the water that morning; there was simply no way they would let a chance to send teasing comments his way slide by them. They were riding a couple of rows in front of him when Fíli raised his voice to catch his attention.

“Mister Baggins!” he shouted, and continued with great humor. “I see you’ve been tending to your hair this morning!”

“It looks absolutely lovely, ma’am!” Kíli complimented, and they both barked with laughter at that; even a few of the surrounding dwarves couldn’t help their amused chuckles.

Their taunts fell for deaf ears though, and Bilbo lazily smiled them off. If anything, he also took a bit of pleasure in letting them roar with hearty joy – that was an aspect Bilbo believed their journey couldn’t have enough of.

The brothers continued their jests in half speech, half giggles. “If I hadn’t known better I’d say you were of fairy blood, Miss Baggins!” Kíli then suggested, and Bilbo couldn’t help but jest back.

“Thank you, dear fellows, though I do suggest you bring a bit of creativity into your commendations; I’ve heard that one more times than I can count,” he smugly replied, resulting in some dwarves almost barreling over their ponies in laughter.

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle by himself. He really did enjoy the company of these fellows, and their gestures and jokes no longer offended him quite the same way they used to.

What actually did bother him, though, was Thorin.

Since their first night in the valley the dwarf prince had continued surveying him from time to time with a still very intense staring – although this time with a sort of anticipation. This anticipation had him unnerved, reduced with a certain worry to the point where he felt the need to counsel with someone he trusted to know the answer.

So, while the dwarves were busy humoring themselves (and Thorin rode at the very front in deep conversation with Balin), Bilbo turned to talk to Gandalf the Grey.

“Um, Gandalf,” Bilbo inquired, leading his pony to trot next to the wizard in question. Gandalf, occupied with puffing on his pipe, hummed questioningly around the mouthpiece as he turned his head towards the hobbit. Bilbo continued, voice hushed and green tinted gaze darting carefully between the front and back in case someone should turn around to listen to their conversation. “Look, I—I might need some advice—about Thorin.”

At the mention of the dwarf prince a strange glint went through the wizard’s deep eyes. “Ah, I see. I suppose you’re having troubles concerning your cultural differences.”

Bilbo’s lips tightened into a thin line. He nodded a confirming “yes” in response, knowing not to question just how Gandalf knew everything he spoke of unless he wanted to be victim of a game of wizard riddles – and riddles he had far more than enough of for many years to come, he’d dare say.

Gandalf chuckles softly and puffs another smoke ring. “And I suppose there is something specific you want to query about.”

“Yes, yes…” Bilbo mumbled, taking the wizards invitation to explain his situation. “It’s about two nights ago—when Thorin made this for me,” he gestured to his neatly arranged curls, and Gandalf smiled at the warmth that momentarily lit up the halfling’s face before sliding off to make way for his concern. “See, the thing is—he said he’d want a returned favor from me, and I fear he should ask… for I am no dwarf or lass, Gandalf, and braiding is a skill I just do not maintain.”

All the while expressing his worries the grey wizard was smiling knowingly into the air. Once he finished, Gandalf let out a low chuckle. “Master Baggins, while that might be true, one quality you do maintain is your resourcefulness, which you have proven to all of us. I am sure that you are quite innovative, and that shall help you find means to master whatever challenge that comes your way.”

Bilbo nodded slowly, not quite wanting to admit he didn’t really understand what the wizard wanted him to do. He sighed softly. “I know we’re becoming more like companions, but Thorin is still a dwarf lord…in the first place, why would he want to ask such a favor of me? I can’t even braid the simplest of interweaves—much less do beads and leaves and, oh gosh, whatever else!”

The hobbit let out another huff, before falling silent. Gandalf continued to stare expectantly at him, slowly irking him to walk into the core of the matter. Bilbo swallowed.  
“I… I just don’t want to disappoint a good… friend. Not after all that’s happened.”

Gandalf now smiled genuinely down at the distressed hobbit. With a pleased hum and puff of his pipe, he went on to give some true wizard like advice. “I can assure you, my dear hobbit, that your sharp intentions to make the attempt shall be enough to convince Thorin of your good will. I suspect that he has taken it all into consideration. But if you really want to know more about the dwarf customs: what better place to learn than while amongst a herd of them?” His wise blue eyes twinkled as he spoke. “Observe, Bilbo. If you take time to study the raven’s behavior you should eventually be able to deduce its exact intentions.”

As the words slowly registered to him a soft grin cracked across his face. He thanked Gandalf for his advice, and the wizard seemed just as pleased with the sudden brightening of his mood. Neither one of them had any direct way of knowing (although Gandalf probably had his suspicions) that Bilbo was misunderstanding the words of the wizard.

For now, however, it only made sense to Bilbo that Gandalf was obviously telling him to learn how to braid. In fact, he was thinking very brightly of the idea: once he sets his mind into it, Bilbo was sure he would be able to craft some quite pleasing results.  
-  
As the travels went on the group would take various breaks for meals and drink, and otherwise to catch their breath and plan the route. Each one of these stops became an opportunity to Bilbo and his newly developed plan. Whenever he had the chance he’d try to politely ask the dwarves, one by one, to educate him in the art of braiding.  
However, the dwarves – each and every one of them – were outright avoiding him once he started bringing it up.

It had started around noon with Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo had approached them while they were raiding a bush for edible juicy berries, pushing and pulling at each other and stuffing their faces until they noticed his presence.

Kíli had spotted him first, bumping his fist into his brother’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Look, Fíli, it’s Miss Baggins!”

“Why indeed it is, dear brother! Are you desiring a refreshing appetizer of the forest for sating your hunger, ma’am?”

Bilbo snorted at their overused jokes, but took them up on the offer and joined them in snacking on the delicious berries. They talked and laughed about memories and expectations, and Bilbo was intrigued as he listened to their stories about the halls of the Blue Mountains and the awe striking arts of the dwarves ranging from mining expertise to passion for music. It was while Kíli was joking about his brother’s still growing mustache again that Bilbo found the moment to subtly ask for their assistance.

“While we’re talking about that I have a request to make of the two of you,” Bilbo started, looking smartly at the smiling faces of the two brothers. “You see; since two days ago I’ve really been wishing to, well, understand your arts better – especially your handcrafts.” A sudden light dawned over their faces, and their unnerved exchange of looks had Bilbo perplexed for a few seconds. He slowly went to finish his request. “So I was wondering if you could possibly take some time to teach me how to b—”

“Bow!!” the older of the two suddenly exclaimed.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. “What—? No, I was saying—”

But Kíli had already caught on to his brother’s exclamation. “Yes!! Yes, bow, mister Baggins, bow and arrow!!”

“What better way to become familiar with true dwarf handcraft than to handle a true dwarf made bow!” Fíli continued, preventing Bilbo from making any sort of intervention while his brother ran to pick up his weapon of choice.

Before Bilbo was quite aware it had happened he was stringing Kíli’s beautiful bow – but quite unable to admire its design as he was concentrating every muscle in his body on holding the weapon straight. It was obviously way too big for him.

Kíli and Fíli were both standing behind him, talking around each other, seemingly discussing his posture and promise of talent and leaving no room for Bilbo to squeak out that this was not what he had in mind. Whenever he tried he was ignored or spoken over by one of his two tormentors.

“Do you think he ought to hold it a little higher?”

“No, it should be fine. See, now all you need to do is aim, mister Baggins!”

“Try not to point the arrow in the direction of the camp—”

“—and in our either—”

“—and you’ll be fine.”

“By the way, you have really nimble hands.”

“Yes, I’m sure with practice you’d make an excellent archer—”

“—we just need to build some muscle in you.”

“But I really do not want to—” Bilbo tried, in vain as Kíli interrupted him.

“And now you release the arrow and let it fly towards its target!” he announced, spreading his hands in a wing like manner.

“And if you’re lucky,” Fíli winked, “you might even hit it.”

Not a second later Bilbo’s small fingers had tired of holding the arrow in place, and the moment they slipped Kíli’s arrow flew into the forest—or so Fíli and Kíli made it out to have happened.

They were both looking searchingly into the crowns of leaves above them, exchanging surprised looks and queries of “where did it go”; all the while Bilbo was staring at the shaft of the arrow pointing up merely a yard away from him. His attempt had been a miserable flop. However, when he went to speak about it the brothers once again interrupted him.

“Well, there goes another wasted arrow!”

“Shame about that – it was my favorite.”

“Indeed it was, brother dear.”

“A tragedy, really…” Kíli sighed.

“We can’t possibly leave it like that, though.”

“No…no, you’re right, Fíli.”

“Absolutely – I always am. I suggest we run and look for it.”

“A mighty fine suggestion, that is!!”

“Um, Fíli, Kíli—the arrow is right—” Bilbo tried again, but was quickly hushed by Fíli.

“We’re sorry to leave you here, mister Baggins, but we have urgent matters to attend to.”

Kíli nodded in agreement. “Please make sure to put my bow back in place.”

“We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Don’t eat all the berries!”

“Or at least don’t be obvious about it; it’s not fitting for a lady such as you, ma’am!”

“Fare thee well, oh fair feet!”

“And may our paths cross once more!”

Before Bilbo could do anything else about it, though, the brothers were scurrying off into the forest. By the time they returned the company was already packing up and leaving, and would probably not rest for another few hours or so. All Bilbo learned from that encounter was that he couldn’t, for the life of him, shoot an arrow.  
-  
The next time Bilbo found he had a chance at making his request he was sitting down with Balin by the ponies – and this time he had actually gotten to voice his inquiry.

Balin had seemed slightly embarrassed, though, as he relayed his answer. “Oh—well, I honestly have to say that I am not the best teacher you could ask for, laddie. I am fortunate with my growth – less so in the art. However, I am quite knowledgeable in politics, history and language. Say, you wouldn’t be interested in taking lessons in Khuzdul, instead? Your hands seems to be made out for art and writing – you would get the runes down in no time at all.”

Bilbo kindly put off the offer. Despite his curiosity and interest, it really wasn’t on his mind at the time: “Maybe some other time.”

He had quickly gotten around to other dwarves during their break, always making sure Thorin was not near as he asked for the assistance. Some of his encounters were even less successful as he didn’t actually get past the conversational stage.

Oín, for example, already had impaired hearing, but his condition seemed to have worsened dramatically when Bilbo came up to speak with him. Bifur, on the other hand, spoke only in Khuzdul; considering he hadn’t taken those lessons from Balin yet, nothing really helped him here.

Dori was talking with Nori as Bilbo came by. He answered his request by saying that his hands were probably better for serving and preparing foods and brewages, such as teas and wines. Nori thus suggested he spent time learning his brother’s secret recipes, or perhaps the finer crafting and decorating the dwarves were famous for (and then complained about how it was too bad that they lacked equipment out there).

It was on their last stop in the afternoon Bilbo had gotten around to asking Bombur. The red bearded dwarf had seemed extremely occupied when he came by, and when he turned his attention to Bilbo it was to make him use his nimble hands to open some nuts he found in the bushes. Then he busied himself gorging them down like nothing else really mattered…

When Bilbo brought the subject up with Ori the young dwarf avoided answering the question directly by talking about his knitting of different accessories, ranging from mittens to sweaters and caps. To Bilbo it was a blessing when Glóin came along and asked for help fixing the straps on his pony. He was however slightly dismayed when Ori jumped up and handed his knitting to Bilbo, telling him to give it a try.

In the very end, it was Bilbo’s nimble fingers that managed to fix the straps and allowing Glóin to ride again. The redheaded dwarf was very grateful of him and asked how he could make up for it, but when Bilbo was about to ask for Glóin’s help Thorin announced their departure – and the hobbit’s mood was even more down after that.

Bilbo, left without much of a choice, stood by the ponies as the group was setting up the camp for the night. He was supposed to count up their rations and have it fairly distributed among the ponies, depending on rider, rider’s weight and pony’s condition. Instead he could be found practicing braiding a very, very simple braid that he has picked up from watching the dwarves, but he also remembered it from his younger days when would watch all the small hobbit lasses would sit around in rings and braid stems of flowers and leaves into their wavy tresses with less intricate patterns. Setting out on this task he was thinking that even he could master something simple as such. However, he often messed up even this one quite simple task.

It was as he failed yet another attempt that Bofur came over to talk.

The hobbit let out a frustrated sigh as he untwined the knot he had ended up creating in his pony’s long mane, and then turned his desperate eyes to his visitor. “Bofur, I don’t assume you would—”

“Nope,” sounded the quite straight answer he received.

“Yes, yes—I suppose I expected that much,” Bilbo huffed. He was not a fool, although he felt like one far too often for his liking. “So every single one of you refuse to help me, or simply avoid me altogether. Tell me, did you all agree to play a game on me, beforehand, to see me squirm? Because I can’t think of anything else that makes half as much sense, at the moment.”

They slipped into a slightly gloomy silence after that.

Bofur seemed to hesitate for a moment, striking Bilbo as slightly curious, and after looking like he had gone through an internal struggle the miner looked around for anyone watching, and then leaned closer to him. “Look, Bilbo,” he whispered urgently. “I’m telling you this because you’re a very nice person, and just not—well, all that wise concerning our culture.”

Bilbo nodded, confirming what was being said. “Alright…yes, thank you.”

The dwarf smiled friendly at him. “You see, as mentioned, braiding is about, well, companionship and such, but because of the high levels of trust required, even among the group, only brothers and close family will tend to each other—and if not available, those who stand closest to them will. Braiding is about showing that companionship.”

Bilbo squinted at this. “But I am as close to Thorin as any of you. And Fíli and Kíli are his nephews.”

“Well, yes…” Bofur said, fidgeting for a bit, “but, well… Thorin, it seems, would like to, uh, further your companionship.”

“Oh…” Bilbo looked to the ground in his combination of confusion and frustration. He soon started reasoning with himself, looking through everything he had learnt; it was during this process that a candle seemed to light up inside him, casting a light into the darkness of his thoughts, enlightening a different perspective. “…oh, I see.”

Bofur seemed to tense up a bit at his knowing tone. “You do…?”

“Why, yes I do. I mean, it’s quite obvious when you put it like that,” Bilbo explained rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. Why hadn’t he seen this before?

Bofur, on the other hand, was blinking his widened eyes in pure terror. “O-Obvious…?! Oh, by the gods… no, no, no…”

Bilbo was surprised at the shift in his friend, looking on with worry as Bofur clenched his head in his hands. Carefully, he asked: “Is there a problem Bofur?”

Bofur immediately spun to face him. “Yes! Yes, there is! Oh, Bilbo, you weren’t supposed to know that!”

Now the hobbit was even more confused. “Not supposed to know what?”

“This—oh, this entire thing…! Oh, gosh—Thorin is going to slit my throat for this—”

Bilbo did a double take at that comment before cutting in. “Slit your throat! Thorin wouldn’t just slit anyone’s throat for—wait, for what exactly?”

Bofur shook his head, to Bilbo’s growing annoyance.

“What about this entire thing is it that I am not supposed to know? Surely, it can’t be something that deserves any form of decapitation.”

After a couple of second, Bofur took a breath, swallowing to moisturize his throat before starting his explanation. “Well, by our customs it stands in high disrespect to inform the receiving part – y-you, in this case – about the initiator—well, Thorin’s attempts at… um… well, moving your relationship forward– unless the informer is of the receiver’s close family – which I am not. By telling you of his intentions before you’ve recognized them and answered to them yourself I, by the law, resign myself to Thorin’s chosen punishment for having interrupted and possibly hindered him from commencing a mutual co—”

“That’s ridiculous!” Bilbo interrupted rather suddenly, having had quite enough of the complete nonsense that was coming out of his friends’ mouth. “By the law, you say—well, I say they must be some ridiculous laws if they give Thorin the right to commit murder just because you’ve told me that he intends to apologize to me!”

Bofur suddenly fell into deep thought for the following ten seconds. Carefully, he then asked: “Bilbo… just what exactly do you think Thorin’s…intentions are?”

“Well, you said he wishes to further our companionship though this braiding. Obviously, as he has admitted before, he regrets how he treated me from the very beginning of our quest until a week ago, and now he attempts to make up for it through being more friendly to me—including me more in your group and introducing me to your traditions.” Bofur let out a breath, as if he had been tremendously relieved. Bilbo raised an inquiring eyebrow, crossing his arms as he spoke. “Are you saying that I might be mistaken…?”

Bofur shook his head violently. “No—no, you’re absolutely right. I’m fine – it’s all fine, actually. I’m sorry for worrying you—in truth I’m just talking rubbish. I was just trying to save Thorin some of the embarrassment…well, you know how he is, ever the Highness and King.” Bofur smiled as Bilbo chuckled at his little joke.

“Yes, I see your point,” Bilbo confirmed, smile still quirking the corner of his mouth.

The dwarf then cleared his throat. “So, it would be better if you simply forgot about this revealing chat of ours—if you know what I mean.”

Bilbo’s expression was one of bewilderment as he replied. “Bofur, my good friend—revealing chat, you say? We’ve simply been discussing how to load our remaining rations fairly among the ponies. I hardly call that revealing.” A pink tongue darted to lick his dry lips as a winked smugly.

Bofur, realizing he was supposed to play along, nodded slowly, and then smiled. “Well then, Master Baggins, I suggest we head back to our campfire and prepare for dinner.”

“Ah, yes. I do happen to be on duty for cooking tonight,” Bilbo agreed. “In fact, I should get started if we are to get any food at all before midnight.”

“That is a brilliant idea, Master Baggins—after you.”

“Thank you, Mister Bofur. Let’s not keep our company waiting.”

As Bilbo walked back to the camp he was in quite the better mood. Smiling to himself, all worries and frustrations concerning braiding long forgotten, he does not notice Bofur’s look of relief as he lifts his cap to dry his sweaty brow.  
-  
That night most of the dwarves and the hobbit were gathered around the warmth of the fire, laughing and joking while Bilbo carefully prepared a special stew he would be serving that night. “The moment it starts boiling you pull it off and add the amounted cheese and herbs. You can, for the love of the gods, not let the meat overcook,” he had explained to Bofur and Dori who were very interested in Shire culinary arts. 

They were, for instance, discussing the finer enjoyments of their races, music being a favorite among the dwarves, and Bilbo was in the middle of educating them on the aspect of Southern Farthings famous Longbottom leaf and the pleasure that could be found in a pipe of Old Toby when it happened.

Gandalf, Balin, Dwalin and Thorin returned from a short meeting at the edge of the camp, seemingly having discussed the next few days of travel before they would be leaving the valley. There had already been suggestions regarding collecting edibles and making use of the water while they had it close and accessible, and if their anticipations were tight they would be doing so starting from the next day and out.

Eventually though, just as Bilbo was getting into the export logistics from the Southern Farthing through the Shire, Thorin’s booming voice fell through the air like a blacksmith’s hammer to hot iron: “Bilbo Baggins! I require your assistance.”

Without another word Thorin walked out of the camp and towards the river, obviously expecting Bilbo to follow. Truth to be told, though, that was the last thing Bilbo wished to do at that moment. He looked around at the others, questioningly, and most of the dwarves immediately urged him to go.

“Wouldn’t make ‘im wait if I were you,” Dwalin suggested, elbowing him lightly.

Bilbo swallowed. “But—wait, what can he possibly need me for at this time…? I’m on duty—can’t one of you—”

“He specially asked for you, laddie,” Balin supplied, eyes speaking of heavy responsibility Bilbo was not quite sure he wanted to carry. He tried for one last excuse.

“B-but the stew—I need to watch it—”

Nori spoke up, now. “No worries! Once it starts boiling we’ll have someone come get you.”

He fidgeted. “W-Wait, are you sure…? I mean, what if your attention slips or you forget to inform me—”

“Bilbo--!!” was their warning chorus of a reply.

The hobbit in question helplessly looked around, eyes landing on Bofur who shrugged in an apologetic manner, but his warm eyes remained encouraging. He then looked at Gandalf who only slightly winked at him, telling him to go on.

No one offered any other option. Nervous and swallowing Bilbo walked out from the camp and trailed after Thorin Oakenshield.  
-  
He found Thorin by the river, icy eyes gazing up at the contrasting night sky. Bilbo, walking as quietly as he could possibly manage – and hobbits really could walk quietly – couldn’t help but study the prince’s profile in the moonlight. There really was no wonder that Thorin had been the dwarf of Erebor who had achieved bringing his people into safety. He still sometimes could not quite fathom that the stories Balin had told of the courage and resolution driving Thorin Oakenshield were quite certainly true. This person – this very, very amazing dwarf – Bilbo had the pleasure of referring to as his dear friend – his companion.

Bilbo smiled at that. Such was more than any Hobbit he had known could ever hope to say. He was certainly quite lucky to have met Gandalf that day at Bag End – and then his fantastic travelling companions – Going on an adventure.

It was terrifyingly wonderful that such a decision had ended him up where he was now, walking to meet with the future King under the Mountain – the dwarf king of Erebor – as his companion.

It was with that Bilbo let his steps be heard, catching the prince’s attention.

Thorin sent him an appreciative smile once he saw him approaching. Bilbo smiled back, pacing to stop a couple of yards away: “Um…Good evening.”

Thorin nodded. “A good evening it is.”

“Y-yes, it is. Clear sky—very pretty stars, and the moon—quite beautiful.”

Bilbo wasn’t looking at Thorin anymore, not because he was afraid to make the situation awkward, but because the sky really was beautiful that night. It was nice just standing there, for a moment, mutually appreciating something they both found equally beautiful – yet also mutually wishing for something else entirely.

After a minute of the comforting silence, Thorin cleared his throat. “The valley has been good to us. It’s been a good opportunity to prepare for our rough travels through Mirkwood… we should expect to be out of the valley soon, and reach the forest in a matter of few days.”

Bilbo was a bit caught off guard as he processed the information, but eventually he formed a reply. “Oh—good, that’s good. I mean, I suppose that’s a good thing, for we’ll be closer to getting your home back. It’s very nice here – the better part of our journey since Riven—since after crossing the mountains.” He chuckled to himself here, realizing how he’d made a very conscious attempt at not mentioning elves in the presence of the dwarf prince.

Thorin seemed thoroughly amused himself. He then, though, turned his body fully towards Bilbo. The entirety of his royal presence still awed him, but Bilbo no longer felt the need to shrink in it. He was still smiling absently as Thorin made his next statement. “It is most unfortunate that the circumstances of our travels are not very kind on your hair, though.”

Bilbo blinked slowly for few seconds, then smiled grimly as he reached to touch the handwork of the dwarf in front of him – even more dissembled and tangled than it had been that morning. “Yes… I suppose so.”

There was a slight pause where Thorin stuck his hand into one of his pockets, fishing out something before stepping closer to Bilbo, hand held out in a fist before him. He exhaled heavily once before speaking again. “I would like to redo it,” he said, unclenching his hand to reveal a forest green bead the size of a small hazelnut and two smaller ones corresponding to the first. It didn’t take Bilbo long to connect the gems to the braiding – to further our relationship. Thorin was, for a split second, seeming a little nervous before he spoke again. “I make a request to progress my work further, if you accept my offer.”

And Bilbo let him.

With a quiet nod and a smile for his answer, Thorin’s mood brightened further. He laid out his coat and motioned for Bilbo to come sit. Obviously it would be much more comfortable than the forest floor. It doesn’t take long before Bilbo finds himself sitting between Thorin’s spread legs, his back to the sturdy dwarf’s chest.

Bilbo remembered the last time Thorin did this, a few nights ago. The feeling of fingers working expertly against his scalp as they undo the previous work to make way for the new one is most welcome. He felt his breath hitch for a second as those big, yet nimble, fingers first slid through his locks, untying knots and arranging curls for the future creation.

Then he began, and this time Bilbo let it all go with a soft sigh. There was no embarrassment that threatened to flood him, no staring and laughing dwarves – just him, and Thorin, and Thorin’s fingers in his hair.

He closed his eyes for the majority of the duration of it, but watched from the crook of his eye as Thorin arranged for the beads to fit into the interweaving.

Once Thorin finished his hands lingered, fingers tracing the dips and dents of the golden-brown curls shimmering in the moonlight, complementing his work silently. Bilbo found himself getting used to the comfortable feeling. Once Thorin’s hands left, his own arose to trace the same path through the braid. He couldn’t help a small grin as he brushed over the smoothness of the beads.

And then Thorin spoke again. “…your response?”

Bilbo was frozen for a moment before his mind started functioning again. “My response—oh…y-yes, of course…” He swallowed. “Though I have to admit… I am not very skilled.”

Thorin chuckled behind him, chest rumbling with the vibrations, leaning down over his shoulder while speaking, reassuringly. “The simplest creation will do. Should I provide you an adornment, or would you rather provide one of your own?”

Bilbo panicked for a moment, turned around to face Thorin and then subtly asked, “W-Well... I’d prefer to make a good choice, so, um. Is there a difference? Of significance, I mean.”

Thorin seemed slightly amused as he explained that as a dwarf of a high line it would only be proper of him to provide material as desired by Bilbo, but most chose a personal adornment due to its more sentimental and vulnerable nature. Bilbo knew that that meant. Complete trust.

A second later he thrust his hands to go on rampage around in his pockets, looking for something – anything – that he could possibly give to Thorin in return. His heart skipped a beat as his fingers swiped over cool metal: the ring. For a moment he was filled with confusing dismay, an urge to slip it on and vanish and run away, that disappeared as his fingers passed it… only to hit another sort of metal.

When Bilbo pulled up his hand his palm revealed a brass spare button for his waistcoat. He swallowed thickly as Thorin surveyed him with a slight amusement. Bilbo felt himself flush. “I know it’s not much… really—I really wouldn’t mind if you wouldn’t want it, but I really don’t have much else yet… I mean, it’s mine, and I appreciate my buttons, so… I thought it would be, um—somewhat fitting.”

Thorin smiled. “It’s fine.”

Bilbo braided a small strand of hair by Thorin’s ear going down to his neck. The shaking he had initially been sporting had slowly ebbed away, and (with some directions from Thorin) he eventually made it to the end. Though his fingers are quite dexterous (as he had been told multiple times that day) he had troubles with the button and finding a good position for it.

Thorin’s hands came up to help him, expertly finding a way of binding the button the braid. They finished the last tie together, and Bilbo found himself quite satisfied with the result. Thorin’s hands did still not leave Bilbo’s, though.

The prince seemed, for the first time since waking after their escape from the pale orc, genuinely happy. Somehow this made Bilbo genuinely glad, as well, and even more grateful for the companionship they were developing on this amazing adventure of theirs.

For the first full minute this glee remained grand enough to shadow any strangeness of the situation. The moment it got awkward was once Bilbo realized Thorin’s fingers caressing his hands. The dwarf prince was fondly speaking of their softness and nimbleness, how apt they were for so many different uses. Thorin murmured about his courage, his sharp mind and unwavering loyalty, and for another moment Bilbo couldn’t believe the dwarf prince was praising him so unabashedly.

Was he supposed to be returning the praise? This could, after all, be a part of the cultural aspects – a list that already seemed never-ending.

Bilbo gave it his best try. “W-Well…and you are—um, certainly the most becoming, well… most amazing coming king—I have ever met.”

Thorin’s icy eyes widened a little in surprise; then, he chuckled softly.

“Remarkable…” a hand stopped tracing his fingers and came up to stroke his freckled cheek, tanned a few shades from their travels. Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as he looked up. Thorin was smiling very contently down at him. “I’m glad to have received such an answer…” he murmured, leaning a few inches closer. “I truly can’t imagine it to be anyone but you.”

Bilbo was confused. This didn’t make sense. Was Thorin saying he couldn’t imagine anyone else doing his braid for him?

The dwarf’s face was suddenly very close to his neck, icy eyes aligned with the forest green beads, and Bilbo couldn’t help but think he must simply have been admiring them. Then he inhales. For all it was worth, Bilbo couldn’t quite place where Thorin was going with this, and it left him heavy and immobilized with confusing impulses. Thorin’s lips were nearly brushing against his sensitive skin as he exhaled, so very close, and then he pulled back, murmuring with a strange voice Bilbo would only associate with possession and adoration, “My Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo wasn’t given the time to comprehend much as Thorin leaned in. It was only by pure sweet coincidence that Ori’s voice called out for him from the camp, halting all movement between the two.

Bilbo pulled away, jumping to his feet at off of the coat, just in time for Ori to come around the tree. “Bilbo, there you are…! It’s boiling – so I was sent to get you—hey, you alright?”

Mind still churning with images of what just happened he simply shook his head ‘yes’. “Y-yeah…I’m fine. So...what is it, Ori?”

Ori lit up again, brushing away all suspicion, “Oh—it’s your soup! It’s been boiling for a while, so I was—”

“For a while… Oh, oh gosh—my stew…!”

Before anything else could be said or done Bilbo was racing towards the camp in order to save his dinner masterpiece, most else very much forgotten for the time being.

Thorin stared after him, expression blank but eyes very much vivid and alive as they had been a short time ago.

Ori looked on puzzled, but somewhat pleased, between them as Thorin stood up and collected his coat from the ground. Wearing a quite proud and knowing smirk he headed back to the camp with Ori.  
-  
The stew was, very luckily, saved by Bombur and Dori (who had actually paid attention to him when he explained the procedure) and dinner was ultimately a huge success. The entire company was in higher spirits than they had been in since meeting at Bag End. They were all merry, joking and laughing, praising Bilbo for his culinary talent, dreaming of Erebor and the treasure awaiting them… Gandalf was puffing his colored smoke rings and looking at him, either very knowingly or very influenced by his pipe weed. Altogether the evening turned out to be a nice affair.

After dinner, through which he’s paid extra care to not ruin his new braid, Bilbo dragged the cauldron down to the stream to have it washed. He also spent a few moments admiring his new additions in his reflection, appreciating the emerald gleam of the beads that shone in the moonlight. Quite pleased with everything, despite Thorin’s strange behavior from earlier on, he turned to go back to the fire.

He was stumbling with the cauldron in his hands just outside the camp when he heard his name mentioned.

Balin was making a general comment concerning something about their escape from Azog, and the dwarves were all fully agreeing, saying his name along with a blessing for his existence. This really warmed his little heart very much, and he felt himself grinning like an idiot as he entered into the range of the firelight.

“Good health to our brave little burglar,” Glóin cheered along with the others; then he turned to Thorin, eyes glittering with pride and respect, “and of course, to our King, as well! Great to see you two have finally commenced a mutual courtship!”

Bilbo dropped the cauldron. “We…we have what…?”


End file.
